Saturday At The Border:
Here I am writing my first villanelle
At seventy-two, and feeling old and tired--
"Hey, Pops, why dontcha give us the old death knell?"--
And writing it what's more on the rim of hell
In blazing Arizona when all I desired
Was north and solitude and not a villanelle,
Working from memory and not remembering well
How many stanzas and in what order, wired
On Mexican coffee, seeing the death knell
Of sun's salvos upon these hills that yell
Bloody murder silently to the much admired
Dead-blue sky. One wonders if a villanelle
Can do the job. Granted, old men now must tell
Our young world how these bigots and these retired
Bankers of Arizona are ringing the death knell
For everyone, how ideologies compel
Children to violence. Artifice acquired
For its own sake is war. Frail villanelle,
Have you this power? And must Igo and sell
Myself? "Wow," they say, and "cool"--this hired
Old poetry guy with his spaced-out death knell.
Ah, far from home and God knows not much fired
By thoughts of when he thought he was inspired,
He writes by writing what he must. Death knell
Is what he's found in his first villanelle.
The Curtain:
Just over the horizon a great machine of death is roaring and
rearing.
One can hear it always. Earthquake, starvation, the ever-
renewing field of corpse-flesh.
In this valley the snow falls silently all day and out our window
We see the curtain of it shifting and folding, hiding us away in
our little house,
We see earth smoothened and beautified, made like a fantasy, the
snow-clad trees
So graceful in a dream of peace. In our new bed, which is big
enough to seem like the north pasture almost
With our two cats, Cooker and Smudgins, lying undisturbed in
the southeastern and southwestern corners,
We lie loving and warm, looking out from time to time.
"Snowbound," we say. We speak of the poet
Who lived with his young housekeeper long ago in the
mountains of the western province, the kingdom
Of complete cruelty, where heads fell like wilted flowers and
snow fell for many months across the mouth
Of the pass and drifted deep in the vale. In our kitchen the
maple-fire murmurs
In our stove. We eat cheese and new-made bread and jumbo
Spanish olives
That have been steeped in our special brine of jalapeños and
garlic and dill and thyme.
We have a nip or two from the small inexpensive cognac that
makes us smile and sigh.
For a while we close the immense index of images
which is
Our lives--for instance, the child on the Mescalero reservation
in New Mexico in 1966
Sitting naked in the dirt outside his family's hut of tin and
cardboard,
Covered with sores, unable to speak. But of course the child is
here with us now,
We cannot close the index. How will we survive? We don't and
cannot know.
Beyond the horizon a great unceasing noise is undeniable. The
machine
May break through and come lurching into our valley at any
moment, at any moment.
Cheers, baby. Here's to us. See how the curtain of snow waver and falls back.
The Endnote:
The great poems of
our elders in many
tongues we struggled
to comprehend who
are now content with
mystery simple
and profound you
in the night your
breath your body
orbit of time and
the moment you
Phosphorus and
Hesper a dark circle
of fertility so
bloodthirsty for us
you in the world
the night breathing
asleep and alive
I thought it was very confusing. I didnt really know
what he was talkng about. It didnt really make
since to me, but i thought it was very deep.
At first i thought the person speaking was alive, but then i as i read on it seemed like he was actually dead. There are many parts that make it sound like the person talkng is alive, but i dont think so.
I thought this was a deep pome. I think it was talking about how there have been many poets in history that have written poetry in many different languages and stuff like that.
Poetic Devices: Symbolism: While i was reading this poem i read a
part where it mentioned god. This made me picture god.
This is an example of symbolism. This is an example
of symbolism because it makes me imagen something
that represents a symbol. Personification: There are many parts of this poem
where there are examples of personification. At one
part of the poem it says,"On Mexican coffee, seeing
the death knell Of sun's salvos upon these hills that yell
Bloody murder silently to the much admired Dead-blue
sky." This a great example of personification in the poem.
Poetic Devices: Symbolism: While I was reading I came across a lot of examples of symbolism. Different parts of the poem made me think of many things. I imagened all the things it described. in the poem it says,"in our kitchen the maple fire
murmurs in our stove." that made me think of a persons stove and a maple colored fire lit bright inside of it.
Poetic Devices: Personification: In the poem it says,"Phosphorus and Hesper a dark circle of fertility so bloodthirsty
for us." I think this is an example of personification in my poem.
The rhyme scheme throughout the whole poem is ABA.
This rhyme was very confusing. I think the rhyme scheme is ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQ.
The rhyme scheme forthis poem is ABCDEFDGHIJKLMNOPQ.
This poem doesnt have any historical context.
This poem does not have any historical
context.
This poem does not have any historical context.
The theme is about Hayden Carruth writing his first
villanelle.
The theme is about a great machine of death coming to apparently destoy the speakers valley.
The theme is about the many diferent languages peotry has been wirtten in over history.
Biography:
Hayden Carruth was born August 3, 1921, in Waterbury, Connecticut. He taught at many universities in his life, some big universities being, the University of North Carolina and the University of Chicago, where he got his masters degree. Some other universities were Bucknell University and Syracuse University. He is known world wide for his criticism of things. His first collections of poems were published n 1959, they were called The Crow and the Heart. Since his first publication he has written over thirty books of poetry. He wrote Scrambled eggs and Whiskey, which scored him the National Book Award for Poetry. He wrote a novel also, but I cant seem to find the name of it. He is known for writing great poems and he will be remembered for that to. He lived in Vermont for many years before he moved to Munnsville, New York. He passed away September 29, 2008.
Here I am writing my first villanelle
At seventy-two, and feeling old and tired--
"Hey, Pops, why dontcha give us the old death knell?"--
And writing it what's more on the rim of hell
In blazing Arizona when all I desired
Was north and solitude and not a villanelle,
Working from memory and not remembering well
How many stanzas and in what order, wired
On Mexican coffee, seeing the death knell
Of sun's salvos upon these hills that yell
Bloody murder silently to the much admired
Dead-blue sky. One wonders if a villanelle
Can do the job. Granted, old men now must tell
Our young world how these bigots and these retired
Bankers of Arizona are ringing the death knell
For everyone, how ideologies compel
Children to violence. Artifice acquired
For its own sake is war. Frail villanelle,
Have you this power? And must Igo and sell
Myself? "Wow," they say, and "cool"--this hired
Old poetry guy with his spaced-out death knell.
Ah, far from home and God knows not much fired
By thoughts of when he thought he was inspired,
He writes by writing what he must. Death knell
Is what he's found in his first villanelle.
Just over the horizon a great machine of death is roaring and
rearing.
One can hear it always. Earthquake, starvation, the ever-
renewing field of corpse-flesh.
In this valley the snow falls silently all day and out our window
We see the curtain of it shifting and folding, hiding us away in
our little house,
We see earth smoothened and beautified, made like a fantasy, the
snow-clad trees
So graceful in a dream of peace. In our new bed, which is big
enough to seem like the north pasture almost
With our two cats, Cooker and Smudgins, lying undisturbed in
the southeastern and southwestern corners,
We lie loving and warm, looking out from time to time.
"Snowbound," we say. We speak of the poet
Who lived with his young housekeeper long ago in the
mountains of the western province, the kingdom
Of complete cruelty, where heads fell like wilted flowers and
snow fell for many months across the mouth
Of the pass and drifted deep in the vale. In our kitchen the
maple-fire murmurs
In our stove. We eat cheese and new-made bread and jumbo
Spanish olives
That have been steeped in our special brine of jalapeños and
garlic and dill and thyme.
We have a nip or two from the small inexpensive cognac that
makes us smile and sigh.
For a while we close the immense index of images
which is
Our lives--for instance, the child on the Mescalero reservation
in New Mexico in 1966
Sitting naked in the dirt outside his family's hut of tin and
cardboard,
Covered with sores, unable to speak. But of course the child is
here with us now,
We cannot close the index. How will we survive? We don't and
cannot know.
Beyond the horizon a great unceasing noise is undeniable. The
machine
May break through and come lurching into our valley at any
moment, at any moment.
Cheers, baby. Here's to us. See how the curtain of snow waver and falls back.
The great poems of
our elders in many
tongues we struggled
to comprehend who
are now content with
mystery simple
and profound you
in the night your
breath your body
orbit of time and
the moment you
Phosphorus and
Hesper a dark circle
of fertility so
bloodthirsty for us
you in the world
the night breathing
asleep and alive
what he was talkng about. It didnt really make
since to me, but i thought it was very deep.
Symbolism: While i was reading this poem i read a
part where it mentioned god. This made me picture god.
This is an example of symbolism. This is an example
of symbolism because it makes me imagen something
that represents a symbol.
Personification: There are many parts of this poem
where there are examples of personification. At one
part of the poem it says,"On Mexican coffee, seeing
the death knell Of sun's salvos upon these hills that yell
Bloody murder silently to the much admired Dead-blue
sky." This a great example of personification in the poem.
Symbolism: While I was reading I came across a lot of examples of symbolism. Different parts of the poem made me think of many things. I imagened all the things it described. in the poem it says,"in our kitchen the maple fire
murmurs in our stove." that made me think of a persons stove and a maple colored fire lit bright inside of it.
Personification: In the poem it says,"Phosphorus and Hesper a dark circle of fertility so bloodthirsty
for us." I think this is an example of personification in my poem.
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ
ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQ.
context.
villanelle.
Hayden Carruth was born August 3, 1921, in Waterbury, Connecticut. He taught at many universities in his life, some big universities being, the University of North Carolina and the University of Chicago, where he got his masters degree. Some other universities were Bucknell University and Syracuse University. He is known world wide for his criticism of things.
His first collections of poems were published n 1959, they were called The Crow and the Heart. Since his first publication he has written over thirty books of poetry. He wrote Scrambled eggs and Whiskey, which scored him the National Book Award for Poetry. He wrote a novel also, but I cant seem to find the name of it. He is known for writing great poems and he will be remembered for that to.
He lived in Vermont for many years before he moved to Munnsville, New York. He passed away September 29, 2008.